Chasing the Coattails of Death
by Smile Life Away
Summary: There is a formula to dying, and Regulus Black has mastered it. Two final goodbyes and a decision.


**A/N:****Thanks to bookwormofmassiveproportions for betaing**

**Thanks to mew-tsubaki for betaing**

**Disclaimer: I Own Nothing**

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><p><em>To be, or not to be: that is the question:<br>Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer  
>The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,<br>Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,  
>And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep;<br>No more; and by a sleep to say we end  
>The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks<br>That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation  
>Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;<br>To sleep: perchance to dream…_

_Hamlet _Act III, Scene I ~ William Shakespeare

She smelled like strawberries and she tasted like chocolate. Her long blonde curls always found their way around his fingers and at fifteen he was absolutely sure he was in love. A month later, he broke up with her. He never said another word to the girl who'd been his best friend since he was eleven. Monica Peterson. But here she was, eighteen years old and standing five feet away from him. A victim of an early marriage brought on by the Death Eater panic, he supposed, because a diamond ring rested on her left hand. He didn't approach her; he stood frozen in place as he watched the phantom of his past turn to face him. She saw him; he knew instantly because her green eyes flashed with some indiscernible expression. He thought about turning away from her, or maybe, pretending not to see her. But he didn't. He continued to stare at her, trying to read her thoughts.

"Regulus Black." His name formed on her lips as a gasp, an emotionless gasp. And in the moment it took him to read them she was walking towards him, slowly, and then they were standing mere inches from each other. He could feel her cool breath on his face and her scent filled his nostrils. _Strawberries._ It was buried in her skin; coated with vanilla, and it sent an urge through him to touch her golden hair. He lifted a hand but remembered himself and quickly lowered it; there was no one paying attention to them, but his parents had taught him enough to know that it would be improper. Besides, she was a half-blood.

"Hello." The voice was not his own. This voice shook beneath the confident frame of a man he was not. His eyes drifted to the diamond ring on her left hand; she made no move to explain it to him.

"It's amazing that we were once best mates." He whispered it, but she heard him. Her eyes flitted up and her eyebrows rose just a little bit.

"No, Regulus, no, it's not; you used to be the _sweetest_ little boy." Now it was his turn to be shocked. His eyes widened and Monica seemed to realize what she had said. She looked at him once more and then turned to walk away.

_She's not good enough for you_. Mulciber had told him, and he was probably right. He was right about most things. But, she had still been his best friend for four years and his girlfriend for one. Maybe it wasn't love, but he'd given up friendship.

"Did you get married?" he called out to her.

"Last month," she paused in her walking.

Regulus wondered if she knew he was a Death Eater, probably not; though maybe she suspected it. Still, she didn't seem very frightened of him, so maybe not. He walked until he stood beside her.

"Are you headed home?"

"Yes, it's almost dinnertime."

Regulus cursed. Dinnertime meant Rachel. Rachel, the girlfriend he was avoiding. Not because he wanted to be away from her, no – he loved her – but because she represented everything he was against. Their last meeting had ended on an unspoken promise – that he'd never come back, but he had to. Because her blue eyes sparkled and her brown locks smelled like honey and he loved her. Even if he had a horrible way of showing it.

_You're morbid sometimes, Regulus. It's depressing. I mean, recently, you always seem to have your mind somewhere else… as if you're contemplating your own existence or like…_Belial Mulciber always had a way of putting things in perspective for him, but Regulus hardly listened. There was nothing to listen to, just Belial, who always looked at Regulus as though it was his job to protect the young Death Eater. The one who always tried to isolate Regulus from _undesirables_.

_He just cares_, Avery told him. _He cares a little too much. You're important to him, Black._

_Why? _It was a question he never bothered to ask.

Regulus turned so that he was facing Monica, instead of just standing beside her, and felt like a vampire, for just a moment, as he stared at her neck. He imagined his nose trailing it and his lips grazing it. He wondered if her lips still tasted faintly of chocolate, like when they were children, and if the masking vanilla would wash off. In an instant, before she could stop him, he swept down and placed a kiss on her cheek. And in that second he took in the strawberry, the vanilla, and the taste of salty water all at once. She was crying again, and he really did feel as though he was back in fifth year.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. But he did not move. He was sorry, not just for the kiss. He was sorry. Sorry for betraying her. Sorry for trusting Belial who, despite always being right, was a fool. Sorry for throwing away five years. He was sorry. "I'll make it up to you." He Disapparated before she could ask him what he meant.

_I'll make it up to you._ He knew what he meant, and if Belial Mulciber had heard him he would know, too, and Regulus would be told how "morbid" he was being. _I'll make it up to you. I'll find some way to get out. If I have to kill myself I'll find some way to get out. _

He arrived at her flat just as it started to rain, but he didn't notice. Not really. Instead he just knocked on the door: once- twice- three times to no avail. He knocked a fourth time and the door opened just a little bit. Her blue eyes pierced his, and the door opened a little bit more.

"What do you want?"

"To apologize," he offered.

"Go ahead." The door did not open anymore.

"I'm sorry, Rachel. I should have told you earlier."

"That's it?"

He thought about saying something else, but there was nothing else for which he could apologize. Nothing else he could apologize for and live.

"I love you."

The door opened a little wider.

"That's it?"

"It's really wet out here."

For a second, Regulus thought she would close the door in his face. But she opened it enough to let him in and then closed it behind him.

_You're forgivable, _Avery had explained to him. _That's why Snape can never stay angry with you._

_That's not true_, Regulus had responded. He'd been thinking about Sirius - how Sirius had never, and would never forgive him. _I'm an easy person to hate._

_If you insist, Black._

_It's Regulus_. But Avery had ignored him; he wasn't Belial, he didn't respect Regulus's insistence on first name usage.

"I came to…to talk to you," he finished. "I wanted to…I want you to know the truth." He took a step closer to her and sighed, deeply. The air he breathed back in was coated with her scent, honey. "You know about me." He was amazed at how calm his own voice sounded. "I'm a Death Eater. I believe in superiority of purebloods. I agree with the ideals of the Dark Lord, and I am his servant. But, sometimes, I'm afraid of him. And sometimes I feel that I've failed you. And sometimes I want to go return to the past and change it…" _I want to go back to fourth year and steal kisses from strawberry- scented cheeks and chocolate- tasting lips. Because that was when there was innocence…_ "Sometimes I think that everyone would be better off if I was gone, and I want to die." He finished in the same calm voice, but not the monotone he had hoped he would be able to maintain.

_I miss him sometimes, _he'd confided in Mulciber. _And maybe it's wrong, but he was my brother. And he always seemed to know what was right._

_He's a blood-traitor._ Mulciber had not sugarcoated the words for Regulus, at all. _You have us now, you have me._

_It's not the same._

Rachel reached up a manicured hand and brushed his hair away from his cheek with her thumb.

"You don't have to go back to him." Her words echoed their last meeting. "You…we can leave."

She didn't understand. The only way to be free of him was to die.

Regulus did not answer. He offered no response that suggested he had even heard her. He simply breathed her in and leaning down placed a kiss on her lips. The world stopped spinning.

_You care too much about pleasure. _It was one of Avery's favorite lecture topics. _You need to focus more on the matter at hand._

She was crying. He could taste the salty water on her cheeks, and the smell poisoned his nostrils. Tears. He knew why she was crying, of course he did…

"Please, Regulus." Her voice was weak, and her breathing was heavy. Still tangled in her bed sheets, Regulus rolled off of her and lay down beside her. "I don't want this to be the end. I don't want the last time I ever saw you to be ruined, because I didn't try hard enough to convince you that there is another way."

He had no answer for her, and no action to distract her. All he had was the burning on his forearm.

"He's calling me."

"Are you going to go back to him?"

_I don't have a choice. I don't want to. I love you. I want to die._ The options raced through his head as did Mulciber's declaration of _morbid._ None of them made their way to his lips, though. Instead he leaned over her and buried his face in her neck. _Honey._ It was a scent he would never forget.

The burn grew stronger and Regulus stood up and started to grab at his clothes.

"Sometimes, I would rather die," he said finally and, grabbing his wand, he exited the flat and Apparated to the destination of the call.

His lateness was either not noticed, or not important enough to earn a comment. Regulus found a spot beside Mulciber, who was standing beside Avery. The older man noticed him, but he said nothing. It was not time for them to speak.

"…What I need from one of you," the Dark Lord was saying, "is a House-elf…"

There was a wave of confusion throughout the group, but Regulus was not a part of it. Maybe this could be his chance. A stupid chance taken by a stupid boy who was afraid. A brave chance taken by an honest man who'd promised he would "make it up" to his childhood friend. _A chance._

A forbidden word hummed in the back of his mind, a word that whispered the truths –_ chance –_a word that could make his dreams come true, or at least end his pain.

"I will offer you mine, my lord." Regulus Black stepped forward.

_Sometimes I want to die._ A chance he would surely have, in some way. Mulciber looked at him with unveiled shock; his eyes pushed a single word into existence: _morbid_.

It smelled like a mix of stale sweat and sickly sweet breath. The strings of its robes played centimeters beyond his grasp, and at eighteen years old, Regulus Black chased after Death.

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><p><strong>AN: Please Review**

**For a full list of my Regulus stories see my profile**


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